Silent Sunday

Latvian Junior Hockey Fans in Halifax, The Coast, May 2008

Resolutions?

Everyone’s doing resolutions. Where does this end-of-year compulsion come from? It must have a history. Uh ... genea-blogger friends ... I was just musing. History condensed to 25 words or less cheerfully accepted :-D

There is probably a genealogy Carnival out there about New Year’s resolutions but I can’t seem to control my blog functions or the carnival requirements. My three Christmas wishes didn't reach its cyber-appointment. That won’t stop me, of course, from a public display of good intentions that undoubtedly look familiar to many genealogists:

Number 1. Say “NO” even more than I vowed (and often contradicted myself) two years ago. Standards and technology in genealogy will continue to evolve nicely without my oar in the water. Organizations, memberships and blogs will thrive without my sticking my nose in. As a self-described eminence grise in a small circle, this is like passing the torch. This is like knowing how to bow out when the time is right.

Number 2. Say “YES” when advice or help is requested and I can specifically offer something. Note the similarity to a notwithstanding clause for Number 1—have I contradicted myself again without remorse? It may also be incumbent on me to be forthright on things genealogical when it really matters. And know when to curb my inner bitch who feeds on sarcasm and satire.

Number 3. Get serious about researching and writing as much family history as I can. A few ancestors before me were interested in their roots, and someone in another generation will take it up. Since I have had training in these skills, it behooves me to leave a written legacy others can build on. I will be dead when they discover how lazy at it I was sometimes.

Number 4. Keep tackling thorny problem-solving issues that come from former clients or family research—great fodder for writing articles. Get it going. Even if the problems aren’t solved yet, put them down in writing and review, research, re-analyze them. Sort the evidence, note the gaps, take more time, reach even farther.


Number 5. Find more camel trips. How inevitable was that. Granted, it won’t be on every genealogist’s list of resolutions but there are hardly enough words to be said for unparalleled vistas, pure air, a magnificent animal and the hospitality of Bedouins. Traipsing in a desert is not totally incompatible with family history. When I think of the connection, you’ll be the first to know. It likely has something to do with adoption.

Strange lady in pink eludes photographer; photo by MAW, October 2008.

Merry Christmas to all who celebrate it, and have fun relaxing over the holidays!

Genea-bloggers' Christmas Wishes

Here I am, reporting for duty at the genea-bloggers’ 62nd edition of Carnival of Genealogy. The commanding officer is Jasia at http://creativegene.blogspot.com. Not that I’ve participated much on the parade ground, but what family historian can resist asking three ancestors for a gift? We are cautioned a gift must be material and not wishful thinking for research clues. That will be a considerable challenge.
1. Donald-the-soldier McFadyen, please send every military service paper you ever had. Sorted in chronological order, if it’s not too much trouble. No need for gift wrapping. A few old contemporary newspapers folded around them would do. Preferably you could wrap them in your wife’s shawl for safekeeping in transit to me. The shawl would be a bonus since no-one knows what tartan you wore at home.

2. Grandmother Marija Jurikas Freibergs, you probably don’t know how I, with hindsight, would love to have your garnet earrings (Jurikas posts passim). I adore the dresses you wear in your photographs but they would be a waste because you were 5"1" and I am 5"9". Some genealogists would ask their female ancestors for family recipes, but despite all her skills, Marija couldn’t cook worth a darn and besides, Latvian cuisine has yet to achieve trendy restaurant status. At least not in Toronto.

3. John Dougall, I would be thrilled if your family bible turned up. Your grandson John (1783-1867) kept one from the time of his marriage, so maybe you did too. Maybe a descendant in Scotland has it. Lord knows I wouldn’t want to scoop a family treasure away from someone I haven’t met yet. But how can I know if they appreciate its special value and are taking good care of it? If you could just send their address or GPS coordinates (oops, no modern technology) I’m out the door already.

Possibly I cheated in bypassing Santa and going right to the sources. Those ancestors existed but I’m never sure about Santa.

My Famous Canadian Ancestor (Not)

The most recent Canadian Genealogy Carnival (http://looking4ancestors.blogspot.com/) is for “My Famous Canadian Ancestor.” I hope Kathryn doesn’t mind if I mention the one who isn’t ... isn’t my ancestor. He’s famous, but I assert he’s not mine.

This post also comes under the category of a prophet is not without honour save in his own country and similar sentiments. Family historians admire each others' work but sometimes it’s a different matter with family members who cling like limpets to treasured myths. Simon Fraser is one of the barnacles I’ve been trying to excise from the family chronicles.

Simon Fraser was a fur trader and one of Canada’s best-known explorers. A famous river and a famous university in British Columbia are named after him, and no doubt many other things. Simon was born on the eve of the Revolutionary War in New York state in what would become Vermont. His father, also called Simon, died a year later in an American prison for supporting the British forces. The family fled to Canada where in due time Simon joined the North West (Fur Trade) Company, becoming a partner in 1801. In 1805 he was sent west to explore new territory for trading posts and a navigable river to the Pacific coast. It was 1808 when he reached the mouth of the river that bears his name—not without a great deal of adventure and hardship, recorded in his journals.

Map of Fraser river from Vancouver Sun newspaper, www.canada.com/vancouversun/features/Fraser/index1.html, accessed 5 December 2008.
Clashes between the North West Company and the Hudson’s Bay Company led to the disgraceful Seven Oaks massacre in 1816 where the governor of the Red River settlement (Manitoba) and 19 of his men were killed. As representatives of the Nor’Westers in the vicinity, Simon and five other partners were arrested and tried, but acquitted of treason, conspiracy and accessories to murder. Eventually he retired to farm in Cornwall Township among other Highland Loyalist families. The details in Dictionary of Canadian Biography (www.biographi.ca/) are much more edifying than my cursory words.

The family debate? One of my cousins claims Simon as our worthy ancestor. After all, it's good enough for him that we share the same surname and Simon did settle in Canada. Now, I like to think of myself as broad-minded, allowing points for the opposing side. It’s true that Simon’s origins, like ours, were in Inverness-shire, Scotland. Although it wouldn’t surprise me if every Fraser family in the world originated in Inverness-shire. Therefore we could all be related hundreds of year ago to umpteen degrees of kinship.

On the other hand. Simon’s family had arrived in colonial America in 1773. His lineage has been quite well-documented over the years by clan historians and other scholars. They didn’t leave room for a stray John Fraser who was born at about the same time in Scotland and only came to North America in 1807. That was my Inverness-shire John Fraser (my Perthshire John Fraser is so out of this discussion). Also, the name Simon is strewn like confetti throughout the generations of his family’s ancestors and descendants. Names among Simon’s children like Isabella, Catherine, Harriet, William and Simon were not used in my Inverness Fraser line.

But those items are merely a warm-up for my best winning points: Simon Fraser’s family, unlike mine, were consistent Roman Catholics and they were in America as Loyalists during the Revolution. None of that holds water for my cousin. Being a myth buster is a hard row to hoe.

Jurikas Part 3: Alexander Jurikas

Alexander Jurikas was the eldest brother of my grandmother Marija whose story appeared here 27 November 2007. He was born at Krumini farm, Lade parish, Limbazi, Latvia about 1871, son of Janis Jurikas and Katrina Tukums. His baptism does not appear in the Limbazi-Lemsal parish register. He died about 1927, reportedly in Astrakhan in the U.S.S.R. The name of his wife is unknown.

Limbazi Town Seal.

This family was able to educate their children well, despite mother Katrina’s early widowhood. Alexander was about 18 when his father died in 1885. The four boys attended Russian-style academies. In this photo, probably dated in the early 1890s, Alexander wears a uniform of undetermined origin.


Photograph in family collection.

The family’s association with the Russian Orthodox Church led Alexander to become a priest. This much was known by the family. Some published biographical information was available but unfortunately the distant researcher cited only www.petergen.com, a portal which has hundreds of sources (this is still being investigated). From the Kiev Theology Academy in 1900 ‘Uncle Sasha’ went on to become a teacher and writer. In 1905 he was an inspector of classes in the city of Vladikavkas in the Osetia region of the Caucasus with the Russian version of his name as Alexander Ivanovich Jurikas. An undated encyclopaedia—poorly referenced by the same researcher—noted some of his writings:
• “The teaching of socialists about the origin of Christianity on the economical ground” (Harkov, 1904)
• “To the question of relationship between secular society and the clergy” (Harkov, 1905)
• “To the question of reformation of clerical schools” (1906)


It’s not difficult to see that Sasha was on a reform bent. Family stories say that he lost his faith in the revolutionary proceedings as they turned communist. Eventually, it was said, he gave up the priesthood to become a newspaper writer and editor in Astrakhan. It’s impossible to imagine the despair and/or circumstances that contributed to taking his own life by strychnine poisoning. Of his three children, the two sons became medical doctors. Daughter Olga became a librarian for the Leningrad Philharmonia, last known to be retired in St Petersburg in 1973. Family contact has been lost.
Photograph in family collection.

OCAPG

The Ontario Chapter of the Association of Professional Genealogists (OCAPG) quietly passed its tenth anniversary this year. That’s Ontario as in Canada, not as in California :-D
In February of 1998, the president of APG notified us of our official chapter status. From the group I initially called together two years previously, OCAPG joined the worldwide organization that now numbers well over 2,000 members. Our founding members on the application were myself, Sharon Murphy, Barbara Samson-Willis, Louise St Denis and Jeff Stewart.

What are professional genealogists and what do they do? The answer is almost as varied as the individuals and like many professions has specialties within the field. Genealogical research is the bedrock of our profession whether we work as independent business contractors, for commercial companies, for genealogical societies, libraries, publishers or family organizations. Some of the specialty research areas are heir searching, adoption, DNA and genetics, teaching and writing, lineage society applications and ethnic or geographic concentrations. Some members like to apply their expertise to website design, translation of documents, arranging and leading overseas homeland tours, photography of ancestral sites or the indexing of original records.

Mutual goals are outlined in the APG Code of Ethics: www.apgen.org. The APG mail list, one of the most active genealogy listserves on the Internet, reflects the international nature of our membership and helps provide unique insight to resources not possible ten years ago. The word professional applies not only to those who undertake work for clients. Serious family historian members approach their work with the same dedication to careful scholarship and source citation.

As the first chapter in Canada, OCAPG has seen changes and advancements over the past years. We have expanded our membership to more than 50. Not all can attend regular meetings in Toronto—our chapter mail list exists to stimulate news, information and assistance. Early days saw members who recognized a need and branched out to create the groundbreaking project called APOLROD (Association for the Preservation of Ontario Land Registry Office Documents) and the online National Institute for Genealogical Studies. We’ve had excellent committees to work on our workshops, seminar events and the essay contest. At the annual conference of the Ontario Genealogical Society, we plan special activities: “Ask A Professional” has been a popular venue for free research consultations. And ... like all genealogical groups ... we have cycles in the numbers of volunteers we can call on.

Why am I writing about this? Because the chapter seems to occupy quite a bit of my time. Because the more experienced among us can mentor the newer members. Because we need to encourage self-directed education and support and yes, even socializing. Because I appreciate the time a handful of people invest for the greater good of the membership and the profession. Because we know the value of family history and its sources and must fight, sometimes, for gaining or maintaining access to historical census returns and vital records. Because some day we will see university degree programs in genealogy and family history studies. It’s coming.

Cemeteries Part 8

My recent travels were yet again to another Middle Eastern country ... or so some travel agents categorize Egypt, although it is in North Africa. This photo is of an Islamic cemetery in Luxor, with a typical family tomb in the foreground. It is probably made of “mud bricks.” We did not have an opportunity to actually visit a cemetery as package tourist itineraries are set in stone and lingering on the street could mean your bus disappears. A guard armed with an unobtrusive machine gun is now mandatory protection on tourist buses.

Cairo has a similar immense cemetery. In 1961 I saw families here and there in the Necropolis, paying extended visits to deceased relatives, comfortably ensconced with their cooking fires and pots. Today, over a million homeless Cairenes randomly inhabit every nook and cranny of the Necropolis tombs.



Tour guides are very often students supplementing their income for a post-grad degree. They usually have encyclopaedic knowledge of their country’s history and monuments. Several of our local guides were Moslem women whose daily appearance in colourful garments could almost convince one to wear the hijab. They were lively, interesting and competent women who love their work (we also had young men in blue jeans and designer glasses). Later in Jordan we had Nadine the “unorthodox” Moslem woman. Nadine was outspoken and wore sweatshirts and no hijab. No public judgment is attached to her choices, which she didn’t mind explaining to us from the Quran/Koran. Our western countries are not the only ones to claim cultural tolerance and the flexibility to interpret religious writings.

On the other hand, one day at Giza, as crowds of tourists filed patiently along the street, the imam’s broadcast at the noon call to prayers was an endless, furious harangue. Our guide was embarrassed to translate. He was angrily calling on the faithful to reject the non-Moslem world. We all have our fanatics.

I do digress from cemeteries, don’t I. It’s an education, an invitation, to try to understand the greater part of the world outside North America.

Remembrance

Remembrance Day in Canada 2008 marks the 90th anniversary of the ceasefire on the Western Front in Europe. Armistice Day 11 November 1918 marked the finish of “The War to End All Wars.”Apparently we were doomed to repeat history.

On that day in a German prisoner-of-war camp in Holzminden, Lower Saxony, captured British and Colonial officers were already aware of deteriorating morale among the camp guards and some disarray in the German army. Rumours had been flying of impending German surrender and peace. But prison life was generally consumed with getting enough to eat and how to escape. Escape was considered a duty and was never far from prisoners’ thoughts. One of the most famous and daring escapes of the war occurred in the summer of 1918 at this camp, later chronicled in The Holzminden Tunnellers by an eyewitness.

On 11 November 1918 in Holzminden, the rumours of Armistice had come true but it was not instant freedom for the prisoners. It would be another month before the men were entrained for “old Blighty.” During the long, anxious waiting period, the great political, military and social turmoil in Germany was evident. The hated, harsh camp commandant Niemeyer himself had seldom been seen lately. Later they heard he had slipped away in civilian clothes. Some prisoners were able to move surreptitiously back and forth to the town, on the lookout for “grub” and hoping to see their own troops arrive. But prudently, most prisoners decided their chances of getting shot were high if they tried to “hoof it” away through the countryside.

On 11 November 1918, where was my father? Let’s be accurate and say the man who would become my father. He was in the Holzminden camp, hungry and impatient like all the others. Lt. Hector Fraser Dougall from Winnipeg was a Royal Flying Corps pilot in 54 Squadron who was shot down behind enemy lines in France, in February of 1918.

In a satisfying act of defiance — remembering the lack of adequate medical treatment, the withholding of Red Cross parcels, the consignments to solitary punishment for his many escape attempts — he climbed to the top of the main camp building and “liberated” the camp’s enormous state flag. The Globe and Mail photograph.

Hector kept a secret (forbidden) diary during his capture time. He was marked as a “difficult prisoner” with a history of escaping while being shuffled from one prison to another. I mention only two of many escape attempts that have been reconstructed by oblique diary references and later information from fellow prisoners. His final routing was to the supposedly top-security Holzminden. Despite the heavy complement of guards, he and another man jumped from the train along the way. This particular escape attempt lasted over two weeks’ time and came heartbreakingly close to success. When German soldiers caught them and were about to fire on his companion, Hector deflected their attention, allowing companion Williams to make good his escape. Hector’s fate was solitary confinement at Holzminden. Sedley Williams’ subsequent letter from England to Hector’s family expressed his enormous gratitude and described their adventures in great detail.

Fellow airman from Winnipeg, William Stephenson (much later known as Intrepid), also joined the Holzminden gang by September of 1918. In mid-October he and Hector were two who set off on “a hike to the frontier.” Stephenson did reach Allied lines but Hector was recaptured, to be thrown into solitary once again with the threat of court martial. During a family visit in 1981, Sir William admitted that his successful escape to British lines was due to the diversion Hector created among the guards hunting them down.

In the interim period after 11 November, the prisoners experienced something like feast or famine. With German soldiers finally guarding the camp at the end of the month, many of the scrounged meals were cabbage and potatoes. Sometimes the prisoners could still venture to nearby villages to pay for indulgences like wine and meat — rabbit, sausage, duck and chicken are glowingly described in Hector’s diary — making the most of it when they could. Another escape plan came to naught. After a number of disappointing postponements, the prisoners received notice on the evening of 10 December to pack up and get to the train station. Their spirits soared. They celebrated with their hoarded bottles. Hector’s last diary entry mentions how that night the exuberant young men set a fire in the hope of burning Holzminden prison camp to the ground:

“They called out the Fire Department to put it out, and we cut their hoses to pieces. Everything smashed to pieces in the camp. Got beautifully drunk myself. So did most of the boys.” Family photograph.

Hector was 22 years old when he returned to Canada in January 1919. His diary is now in family possession, along with the Holzminden camp flag. More has been written or compiled about Hector in:
“Tales of Derring-Do: A Captured Flag” by Rod Mickleburgh in The Globe and Mail (8 November 2003);
“Hector Fraser Dougall RFC: A Pilot’s Account of the Great War” by Tim Dubé in Canadian Military History (Vol. 5, No. 2, 1996);
“Fiery Red Dougall, Camel Driver” by Brenda Merriman in Early Canadian Life (November 1979);
and a very special DVD created in the 21st century by Hector Fraser Dougall II that followed father Hector's 1918 diary route through France and Germany, visiting prison sites ... some of which the current residents were no longer aware.

UPDATEto NEW BOOK: See http://brendadougallmerriman.blogspot.com/2013/11/remembrance-holzminden-pow-camp.html

Poppies

In the weeks and days before 11 November each year, millions of Canadians sprout red poppies on their lapels. After the Armistice of the “War to End All Wars” the Royal British Legion and the Royal Canadian Legion adopted the red poppy in 1921 as a symbol of collective remembrance. How many other countries embrace this symbol so wholeheartedly and publicly?

Many of us are familiar with the words of the famous poem In Flanders Field. In 1915 then-Major John McCrae was the exhausted Brigade Surgeon serving with the First Brigade of the Canadian Forces Artillery in the Flanders area of Belgium. Some of the worst fighting and casualties of the war occurred there at Ypres. A weary McCrae paused while patching wounded soldiers and burying the dead to write some immortal words:

In Flanders fields, the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

Every year I am deeply touched by his words. For some time I lived on the same street where John McCrae was born, in the city of Guelph, Ontario. McCrae House is a National Historic Site—the family stone cottage is a small civic museum to honour him: http://guelph.ca/museum/. Because my father was in the First World War, I wanted to see if I could learn something new ... and I did. It is said that at least since Napoleonic times, perhaps earlier, scarlet poppy flowers mark the blood of battlefield victims.
Photograph from Veterans Affairs Canada, www.vac-acc.gc.ca.

We are the dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Flanders was apparently not noted for a poppy presence in the early twentieth century. However, many sources repeat the same information—in the First World War the countryside became so devastated from continual artillery bombardment and rubble, the soil was infused with lime, creating fertile conditions for papaver rhoes. Certainly the blooms were in full flower in May 1915 when McCrae was a witness.


Canada also remembers its veterans in many other ways. Services are held on November 11th at cenotaphs in every city and town across the land. Anyone can visit the beautiful national Books of Remembrance online at: www.vac-acc.gc.ca/remembers. Donations for wearing the poppy are held in trust accounts to provide for the needs of service veterans and their families.

McCrae’s haunting words endure through the years with visual and emotional impact. They affect soldiers, veterans and civilians alike. He was buried with full military honours in the Commonwealth section of Wimereux Cemetery in France, the location of wartime British hospital services.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch, be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

Wordless Wednesday

Raisa Gorbachev, Novodevichy Cemetery, Moscow; photograph October 2006 by BDM.

Who Dunnit Part 2

Regarding my post on 1 July 2008, Stalin’s Ghost by Martin Cruz Smith finally came my way. Senior Investigator Arkady Renko is weaving his determined way through Moscow’s strange under classes. The case he is given to solve exposes deeper and more sinister roots. Even his police colleagues, veterans of the Chechen war, are suspect. The “ghost” is a not-so-subtle allegory for the nostalgia of some Russians for the days of Uncle Joe. Renko has his own family ghosts in that same past. His private life is also suffering problems we don’t want him to have.

Falling out of favour–again–with his corrupt superiors, Renko wastes no time following threads of his mystery to the city of Tver. Here, the Diggers were an eye-opener for me. The slow, painstaking exhumation of Second World War soldiers on a huge battlefield site is undertaken by both the altruistic and the greedy. Red Diggers are the volunteers who restore bones for dignified burial and make identification if possible. The Black Diggers profit from selling recovered artifacts and weapons. [Stalin’s Ghost does not mention that Moscow entrepreneurs on the Internet advertise tours to the macabre site for “collectors” and “privet (sic) relic hunting excursions.”]

The book and the hero seemed to have a slightly more than usual jaundiced view of Russian subcurrents, in my opinion. Nonetheless, the plot has increasingly complicated layers and we cheer Renko’s survival ... to appear another time, one hopes, uncontaminated by his surroundings.

Sad Postscript:
A reader informs me that Donald James Wheal died in April of this year. The author of Monstrum, The Fortune Teller and Vadim is no more. I feel stricken with loss. So long, Constantin, fare thee well.

Ancestry.ca

Hard news or even soft news in the world of genealogy was certainly not one of my precepts for blogging but the Ancestry event in Toronto on 16 September begs comment.

Ancestry.ca widely publicized the launch of its new database and the digital imaging of incoming ship passenger lists to Canada from 1865-1935. This is a stupendous achievement and deserved as much feedback as it could get from the media for which the launch event was primarily intended. I did count the Toronto Star, Toronto Sun, and Global Television among sites that had features at the end of the day or following. I’m sure I missed some.

Perhaps less obvious was the quiet establishment of a Canadian office in Toronto. Or reference to the parent corporation called The Generations Network (TGN), based in Utah. Appropriately, the spotlight was on those Canadian passenger lists and the fact that maybe one third of living Canadians have ancestors appearing in them. The original documents are held by Library and Archives Canada (LAC), our national archives in Ottawa, a (necessary) partner in the project. Oddly, the reception was not held in Ottawa nor did LAC have a representative at the event.

Originally we genealogists knew Ancestry.com as a subscription website where we could newly access wonderful things that had never been indexed for names before. From its American origins Ancestry has grown at a phenomenal rate to special sites for and in such countries as Canada (“dot ca”), the UK, Australia, Germany, and others—probably more even as I write. The rapid global growth of the TGN corporation indicates strong commercial recognition of the interest in family roots. A lot of competition and even more specialized websites/databases are developing to capture your interest.

How do you “find” an ancestor in one of these databases? You key his name into the searchable database. Or how you think he spelled his name. Or how the person actually writing it down for a record spelled it. You take your chances on finding an ancestor who “fits” what you already know about him. If you don’t already know something about that ancestor, you could be up a gum tree as my Mom would say. If you don’t have some experience with genealogy, you might not know that there are six or ten or twenty different ways to spell his surname. For starters.

What I’m saying is that the end result of this database creation is founded on names, especially surnames. The user often has an assumption that what was written on the original record has been exactly entered into the database. The original record may have its own inherent faults regarding spelling and identity—regular issues for family historians. The experienced among us recognize that human beings transcribe and decipher and do the data entry. We understand that it’s no easy job to read records that are almost illegible, poorly microfilmed or in unfamiliar context or language. Yes, even in Canada, imagine a francophone priest struggling to record the names for Highland Scots baptisms in Upper Canada or the Irish-born census-taker enumerating German-speaking immigrants. Local nuances can make a big difference for ancestor identity.

Who are the people doing all this yeoman work for Ancestry? At the 16 September event, Josh Hanna, Ancestry's Senior Vice President for Europe, Canada and Australia, responded to a question by confirming that Ancestry outsources the reading, indexing, and data entry. Furthermore, he cited confidence in the 1,500 paleographers hired in Beijing for this purpose.

Ancestry has an outstanding vision and we are the beneficiaries. Not to denigrate their accomplishments, but couldn’t important factors of the operation be moved closer to home?

McFadyens Part 5: Clarification

On 1 September 2008 I blogged about a spotted anomaly in the McFadyens on the 1716 list of Coll men. Now I can safely say (unless or until more information is uncovered) the sources in that discussion indicate it was Angus, and Angus only, among the surrendering men at Breacachadh Castle. My misunderstanding about Donald was due to first receiving an abbreviated transcription of the list. No debate attaches to Nicholas Maclean-Bristol’s writings. Let me note here that without the freely-offered assistance from the splendid volunteers who maintain the Coll and Mull genealogy websites, I would be nowhere. On the other hand, I am open to debate about whether I am more than two kilometers from nowhere.

McFadyens Part 4

I’ve mentioned Donald the soldier before, my emigrating McFadyen ancestor from the Isle of Coll in the Inner Hebrides of Scotland. Donald joined the 2nd battalion of the 91st Regiment of Foot (Argyllshire and Sutherland Highlanders) in 1807 at the ripe and maximum age of 35. Britain was at war with Napoleon and revolutionary France. He signed up for a full seven-year term. Enlistment papers describe Donald as 5' 4" with a round face and brown hair, brown eyes and a brown complexion. While his battalion served at Stralaund and Ostend, Donald remained “at depot” in Ayr. He was discharged 24 December 1814.

Years ago this information was sent to me by a very kind Gerald Hamilton-Edwards, the author of In Search of Army Ancestry. High on my to-do list now is obtaining copies of the War Office (WO 25/527) documents for myself.

Why enlist then ... at his age? Donald and his wife Flory McLean already had three children by then and he was living as a labourer at Toraston on Coll. How to reconcile his having two children during his army period 1807-1814? More recently, my thoughts were revolving around the possibility that Donald could have had prior military service. Now I’m almost convinced. A second derivative source is providing me with exciting information.

Another of my past correspondents, Nicholas Maclean-Bristol, produced his work of a lifetime in 2007: From Clan to Regiment: Six Hundred Years in the Hebrides, 1400-2000 (Sword and Pen Books, UK). The book is an outstanding work of scholarship, a history of Clan Maclean of Coll.

The fortunes and follies of the Maclean estates directly affected my resident McFadyens. Maclean of Coll at various times held estates in the Isles of Coll, Mull, Rum, Muck and mainland Morvern. Living on Coll at Breacachadh Castle, Maclean-Bristol has had access to private Maclean papers. But that’s not all. His source citations reveal an incredible range of archival references.

Coll parish registers only became somewhat “regular” in about 1776. The baptism of Donald c1772 is missing, as are baptisms of some of his children. Heretofore, the 1776 catechist’s list that named all the inhabitants of Coll was pretty well the end of the road for eighteenth century sources. In theory, Donald and his parents are on that list. My hypothesis regarding Donald’s parents is developing and will be tested against information and sources gleaned from this book—a future post, to be sure.

It’s not easy absorbing 600 years of history in 734 pages and I’m not finished! Terrific stuff I learned so far:
■ McFadyens were on Coll by the late 1500s, originally settling at Ardnish. It is said they had been dispossessed from Lochbuie in Mull, probably when their Maclean laird lost estates there.
■ At least one McFadyen line was traditionally part of the laird’s luchd-tighe—a group variously described as household men, a retinue, and/or a bodyguard. “Membership” in this coterie of military-trained supporters began with Maclean kin but also became hereditary in closely allied families. Usually they lived not far from the castle for defense purposes.

■ In 1679 Donald Maclean of Coll was defeated in an ongoing feud with the (Campbell) Earl of Argyll. Coll submitted a list of his garrison at Breacachadh Castle, headed by twenty or so of his luchd-tighe. This included two Mcphaidens: Duncan McDonald Vc Ian [sic] and his brother Dugall of Ardnish. It’s possible that two other brothers were McFadyen cousins: Iaian McNeill Vc Innes and his brother Ewen. Notice the patronymics, which I trust to the experts!
■ Following the suppression of the 1715 Jacobite Rebellion and the surrender of Maclean officers at Breacachadh, a list was made in 1716 of all males of military age on the island whether they had taken part in the rebellion or not, obliging them to give up their arms. Not many of the men on the list could be identified by a surname or patronymic. Some of the “certainly identifiable” castle defenders were of the same families as the 1679 list, according to Maclean-Bristol. Included in the luchd-tighe at this time was Angus MacFadyen, probably one of the joint tenants at Ardnish, close to Breacachadh.

I’ve already spotted an anomaly in Maclean-Bristol’s writings about the 1716 list. In 1998 he edited Inhabitants of the Inner Isles, Morvern and Arnamurchan, 1716 (Scottish Record Society). Without having yet seen the publication and what it is based on, I can only surmise the government wanted a census of all real or potential Jacobite rebels in the entire region. The McFadyen men on Coll were:
■ Donald Mcphaden at “Breckachie.” That implies that Donald was the luchd-tighe man. Only four other McFadyen men were listed, likely living more distant from the castle: Angus Mcphaden at Feall, Hugh Roy Mcffaden, another Angus McPhadden and his son Angus. No locations are given for the last three.
■ However ... in From Clan to Regiment, Maclean-Bristol is saying (as above) Angus MacFadyen is the likely luchd-tighe member. Angus is further noted as giving up ‘a sword of Charles roy’s in Ardnish’ which led to the author’s conclusion about his place of residence.

Whether the 1716 man was Donald or Angus is a problem several generations earlier than current evidence of my own line! Making quantum leaps about relationships over gaps between 1776 and 1716, and 1716 back to 1679 is not recommended in genealogy :-D

Here’s hoping that viewing more sources will clarify the above and help fill some gaps. The University of Guelph’s McLaughlin Library has arguably the largest collection of Scottish material outside of Scotland. And it’s only 50 miles away.

McFadyens Part 3: Farm For Sale

Maybe you’ve noticed signs and properties like this on one of your country drives. Abandoned farmhouse ... a rather wistful, weathered sign announcing its availability. Did that seller get many phone calls?

The Carnival of Genealogy 55th edition called for “Show and Tell.” Since I’m slowly working on my ancestors of Cape Breton, Nova Scotia, could I find something to SHOW that would fit the theme without disturbing the way I want to unfold the overall TELL on my blog? You betcha.

The photograph is a hot sunny day at River Denys, Cape Breton in 2006. The farm for sale is the homestead of my ancestor Hector McFadyen. Seeing it was a significant moment. At the same time, it struck a pang of loss.

We found ourselves wading through thigh-high grass and daisies down a long lane to Hector’s home. To my gratification and some surprise, we had been able to find the exact location. Although we were armed with the old Crown grants map and the current road map, we might not have found it without the friendly assistance of some local McLeans who grew up in a house across the road! Road map notwithstanding, the River Denys area is riddled with winding roads, mysterious to us “from away” who re-traced a few of them more than once!

To our dismay everything had been abandoned for many years and the house, typical Nova Scotia frame construction, was in dire need of repair. Was this Hector’s original home, possibly built in the 1830s or 1840s? I’m no expert on historical architecture but we could see the outside entrance to the old root cellar beneath the kitchen. At a drive-by glance you wouldn’t know the River Denys is its southern property boundary. I’m told it was a bit unusual in those days to set a farmhouse so far back from the road. I hope Hector had some cattle and sheep.

To date, very little information has surfaced about my ancestor Hector. My previous McFadyen blog (Part 2, 21 August 2008) gave an introduction to this transplanted Highland family. Briefly, the passenger list for the ship on which Hector’s family emigrated said he was age 19 in 1828. In Cape Breton, he married Jessie MacKenzie before 1837 which is merely the approximate year of birth for their oldest known child. His date of death and place of burial are unknown, although Jessie was a widow in the 1871 census. Census and vital records for Nova Scotia are intermittent, at best, for most of the nineteenth century—a long story made short. I know from correspondents with firsthand knowledge that the farm remained in descendants’ hands until the mid-twentieth century.


River Denys is a hamlet in the sense that there is no obvious central gathering place now, such as a community centre or general store. Homes and farms are strung along the river from its source on River Denys Mountain to River Denys basin where it enters Bras d’Or Lakes. What is now Forbes United Church is on the site of the Presbyterian congregation’s first building where Hector and his father subscribed to provide a stipend in 1830 for the first minister. A fire destroyed the earliest records of the congregation’s vital events. The burial ground on both sides of the church site has few visible gravestones—none to see for Hector and Jessie, or any McFadyens.


A neglected, almost forgotten family farm. How did this sad pass of affairs come to be? Well, there are clues in the economic and occupational history of Cape Breton, and inklings in family memorabilia and correspondence. Brenda's bank account was not up to buying property!

Photographs by BDM and CBM in family collections.

McFadyens Part 2

One of the most instrumental keys that unlocked doors to my McFadyen research was a derivative source. Sometimes serious(1) genealogists give short shrift to derivative sources when we are lecturing or teaching. In this case my source is a book, a compilation by J.L. McDougall called History of Inverness County, Nova Scotia.(2) The information compiled by McDougall comes from descendants of pioneer families. To a genealogist, family memory presents cautionary flags about factual reliability ... memory often being stories repeated through generations until they take on a life of their own, freely embellishing details or abandoning them altogether.

This is not to denigrate a witness who personally observed certain events. It’s also not to denigrate the acclaimed oral tradition of highland clan genealogists and bards. Can today’s family historians discern historical accuracy and truth? Derivative sources and the information provided need a lot of examination and further research to attempt reasonable or convincing conclusions about events and relationships.

The 690-page Inverness county history has no index at all and no table of contents. It’s something like digging a trench with a teaspoon. Nonetheless, the value to me has been monumental and without it, I would be nowhere. Or still searching for the legendary Ish!(3)

Many years ago from this book,I newly learned:
• My ancestor John McFadyen was the son of Hector and Jessie;
• Hector McFadyen was the son of Donald and Flory;
• Donald, Flory and the kids are recorded arriving at Cape Breton on the ship Saint Lawrence in 1828;
• Donald was “a pensioned soldier” from the Isle of Coll, Scotland, who settled at River Denys.

That’s an abundance of information, to be verified if possible and also suggesting more sources to explore. My examination had to ponder ambiguities and inconsistencies in the book’s information, compared with the incomplete searching I’ve managed thus far. For instance, one section of the book says the family came “about 1820.” A different source indicates these people were cleared and shipped in 1826. I think I’ll go with the ship’s embarkation date of 12 July 1828.(3) See what I mean about derivative sources? Not only that, the good captain of the vessel reported “former residence” of every passenger as the Isle of Rum. That may be because Rum is where they assembled to meet him and his ship; the estates of their laird Maclean of Coll included part of Rum.

Corroboration of the family’s origin in Coll looks good, thanks to Scottish parish registers and British military records—Donald the soldier deserves more space at a future time. But the absence of Hector’s baptism (and that of a few other children) in Coll parish registers and the dearth of existing Cape Breton sources for the nineteenth century have stymied the good connecting links between generations.

I have much to do yet {don’t we all :-}

(1) Serious does not imply humourless. Please.
(2) J.L. MacDougall, History of Inverness County, Nova Scotia (Truro, Nova Scotia, 1922; reprint Belleville, Ontario: Mika Publishing, 1972).
(3) See blog post “Early Days With McFadyens” 12 August 2008.
(4) Original ship’s list in Nova Scotia Archives and Records Management (NSARM), RG 18.

Cemeteries Part 7

This could also be sub-titled Little Known Episodes of Canadian History. On Saturday 9 August 2008 The Globe and Mail printed an interesting article from British Columbia columnist Gary Mason, “A Golden Discovery of Judaism in the North”: http://www.theglobeandmail.com/servlet/story/LAC.20080809.BCMASON09/TPStory/National/HYBritishColumbia.

An overgrown, invisible Jewish cemetery was discovered (or uncovered) ten years ago on the hillside outskirts of Dawson City, Yukon Territory. The discovery of the small Bet Chaim (House of Life) cemetery was due to the research efforts of numerous people, spearheaded by “point man for the Jewish community in Yukon” Rick Karp. A grant enabled further research about the Jewish presence during the Klondike gold rush and restoration work for the cemetery, including the entrance arch. At least five men were buried there; now some biographical details and dates of death are known for them. Unfortunately the photos in the newspaper version can’t be shown here and are not available on the website. A historian from Hebrew University in Jerusalem is spending time there for his research on the Jewish role in the gold rush.

Nice to hear some of the “lost” have been found.

McFadyens Part 1: Early Days

Work on my McFadyen family has revived, but as with other branches of my family history, it proceeds at caterpillar speed. Before I winged off into genealogy, family knowledge about McFadyens was pretty well limited to their more recent days in Manitoba. My initial attempts to pinpoint where in Nova Scotia they had settled seemed impossible. In those early days, dearest Auntie B (featured in “Who’s For Dinner?” 12 February 2008 blog) was my sole and desperate source of potential information. After all, she was the only remaining family member with hands-on experience of her granny, the dread Isabella Campbell McFadyen. The best Auntie B could do was “Well, dear,” with a deep sigh indicating her intense effort to recall, “the place seemed to end in an ish.”

Ish? The best known ish is Antigonish on mainland Nova Scotia. It took me months of correspondence with city officials before discounting it as one of my ancestral homes. The Neil McFadyen who was executed for murder and buried on the beach there in 1848 was secretly exciting but certainly not one of my relatives. We don’t have Neils in our family ... what other reason did I need for discounting him? Folks, these were the dark ages of my personal investigation skills. Now of course it would be gratifying to find even a mild black sheep.

Then came the time for a family trip to the Maritimes and look, the map shows an Ingonish on Cape Breton!
See? There’s Ingonish way up there on the northeast coast with a tiny umbrella.

Map from Listings Canada, http://listingsca.com/Nova-Scotia/cbmap.asp.
Looked good to me until we got there when local lore disavowed any McFadyens in the area. Ever. I was learning to trust that these “Capers” have long race memory, inherited from their Scottish homeland.

Ish was not to be. But I’m still grateful that Auntie B tried. As it turned out later, Inverness County south of Bras d'Or Lake was the actual area. Perhaps Auntie B heard Isabella pronouncing Inverness when her false teeth were removed, as was her custom any time of day. Another fascinating Isabella habit.

Later, quite a bit later, J.L. McDougall’s compiled History of Inverness County, Nova Scotia would provide me with an introduction to Donald McFadyen the soldier and open doors to his family history.

Cemeteries Part 6

Many parts of this incredible world we live in have an enthralling quality for visitors who observe others at home and at work. Something like driving through France’s Côte de Beaune when one fall morning the wine harvest suddenly springs into frenzied action. The seabound shores of Nova Scotia give a different but equally compelling view of an ages-old occupation. Small villages nestle wherever a harbour provides shelter from the pounding ocean for the fishing boats. The homes appear so tranquil they belie the struggles and dangers of fishermen bound to the sea.


And so, the villages are dotted with their little cemeteries, many appearing overgrown and unkempt but still being used. The sea air contributes to the weathering of humble grave stones.
Fog is almost a daily occurrence. Sometimes it dissipates early; sometimes it stays and grows like a sense-deprivation shroud.

Seafaring families are a hardy, proud folk. The town of Shelburne is but one of countless that memorializes their losses to the unforgiving sea. My Cape Breton ancestors were typical of fishing families, losing fathers, husbands, brothers, in every generation.




In the Annapolis Royal cemetery near Fort Anne, you can see many toppled stones. It seems no attempt has been made to uncover the numerous others that now lie beneath a layer of sod.










Old grave markers carved in slate now have a protective edging.













Birchtown in Shelburne harbour became the “designated” village for the considerable group of Black Loyalists who arrived with the 1783 refugees from New York City. All the markers and names in the burial ground are now unknown.



Nova Scotia 2008 photographs 1, 3, 4, 5, 6 by Catherine Belle-Marie Merriman; photographs 2 and 7 by Brenda Dougall Merriman.

(Almost) Silent Sunday

A lot of genealogy bloggers are into mutual fun like Carnival of Genealogy (which threatens to explode from its own popularity) and Wordless Wednesday and lord knows what else. And a creative and humorous lot they are! Now I hear even more networking rumours that involve FaceBook of all places. Gaggles of genie bloggers unite? Next thing you know, they will start having categories and contests and star grading systems. Or oscars. I don’t have to worry about it because no-one reads this blog anyway so I can carry on self-indulgently without anyone (especially me) taking myself seriously.

Having viewed some beautiful photographs on Wordless Wednesday, I enjoy them. Mostly, they speak for themselves. The slight hint of mystery about a photograph with no wordy exposition is alluring. Now you find me thinking of doing something about it, as in acknowledging a nice idea without being FaceBookably sociable or submitting to weekly pressures. My problem is that I can scarcely get one or two posts per month up, never mind one every Wednesday. On Wednesday I won’t even be here. Sunday will have to do.

So now that I’ve yapped on blithely about being wordless, I’m doing a photo. I believe a previous post threatened to expand on a certain non-genealogy topic. One might title this Where It All Began which may or may not offer a certain je-ne-sais-quoi mystique.

Sakhara City, 1961. Photo by Janice Cooper, in possession of Brenda Dougall Merriman 2008.

Frasers Part 4: Losing Your Census

The things that drive a genealogist crazy.
This is a four-part whine for the benefit of the uninitiated who may have the slightest curiosity about why we are crazy.

(1) The old seignory of Argenteuil in Quebec measured 54,000 acres. Development first began about 1800 at St. Andrews village and the agricultural area around it. Early provincial surveyor Joseph Bouchette’s A Topographical Dictionary of the Province of Lower Canada (1832) informs us that 520 farm lots had been created in the vicinity, and the village at the time of the 1831 census had a population of 2,550. Genealogically speaking, this is not an overly large pool in which to trace several Fraser families, even when we add on nearby Lachute and other growing settlements. Even better, there are early census returns and church registers filling the period from about 1800 to 1850.
Map courtesy of the Comte d’Argenteuil’s website at www.comte-argenteuil.com/ and likely derived from M. Bouchette. I love this map. I am so happy M. le Comte put this on his website.

Nevertheless, my question du jour is why on earth have I found so many stray Frasers in a fifty year period? Twenty of them, and still counting! Strays are those pesky people who turn up, usually once! ... with no apparent link to the families being studied. They don’t fit. I would like them to fit. Some of them are Scottish-born immigrants who could be siblings or cousins and could possibly shed light on the overseas connection. "Family reconstitution" is a familiar phrase in this genealogy business. Sigh. It involves attempting to reconstruct ancestral "nuclear" families and in this case must embrace at least the last generation born in Scotland.

(2) Three important, early census returns exist for the seignory of Argenteuil. They are for 1825, 1831 and 1842. Counting all three, there are nine Fraser households, some of whom are mine. Nine men are named as the heads of households in those three periods. That’s the good news. This is typical of Canadian census returns prior to 1851—only the "heads" are named. But within those household statistics the real total is 73 Frasers. So you see the bad news ... no names for the other 64 children, grandchildren, aged parents, mothers-in-law, uncle, nephew, and strays like farm workers and domestic help.

The government does provide column after column of statistics for each household. Sometimes the columns extend for pages. Imagine trying to follow say John Fraser on line 31 across four or six pages of numbers when the heading on each column is out of sight, or it’s in French, or a large ink blot obscures what you want. Trust me, even the enumerators got confused. Household totals and the age categories for individuals (e.g. "over the age of six and under the age of fourteen") are frequently off-kilter. Wouldn’t it have been a lot easier just to name each person in the house?

A tiny example of identifying each family goes something like this. One John Fraser might be recorded as having four children under the age of six, three of them girls. We try to match this household with a John Fraser who probably had daughters born before 1825 but after 1818. More or less. If the church registers have baptism records back that far. Or if they fit with adult daughters in later censuses. If none of them succumbed to infant mortality in the meantime.

(3) Here is a characteristic Highland Scots complaint. My Frasers wanted to call all their sons John, James and Alexander, etc. And their daughters Ann/Nancy, Elizabeth and Mary, etc. The sons and daughters all had children and of course used the same names. Soon we have four or five Nancys and Johns born within a few years. One would expect the later census returns that do name all members in a family/household would help untangle this. But did they all stay at home? No! Inevitably they go to visit Fraser cousins or work for an uncle or care for a grandparent just when the census-taker was at hand. Today’s researcher is left wondering is that Alex’s John or John’s John? John’s Nancy or James’ Nancy? So you can be darn sure of the chaos by the time the third generation arrived.

(4) Why is the page with *MY* Nancy missing in the 1861 census?!

Who Dunnit or Who Dinna Do It?

Like so many genealogists, I devour crime and mystery fiction (murders, lawsuits, terrorists, spies). Detective work and genealogy share great similarities regarding identification of the suspects and the collection of evidence. Exercising the brain reportedly keeps it from calcifying; let’s hug that thought! It’s hard to decide who my favourite detective is. Then again, who says I have to pick just one? My list is amended as new authors appear and the quality of others waxes or wanes. Ideally a preferred author produces a new book every two years, but it doesn’t always work that way.

It’s only fair to mention an icon of the crime genre who was held in highest esteem by his contemporaries and peers—Ross Macdonald and his detective creation Lew Archer. I couldn’t agree more with Sue Grafton in her introduction to Ross Macdonald: A Biography by Tom Nolan:
"If Dashiell Hammett [Sam Spade] can be said to have injected the hard-boiled detective novel with its primitive force, and Raymond Chandler gave shape to its prevailing tone [Philip Marlowe], it was Ken Millar, writing as Ross Macdonald, who gave the genre its current respectability, generating a worldwide readership that has paved the way for those of us following in his footsteps."

Macdonald’s writing is lean and mean, perfect for the laconic California private eye he sent on dozens of cases. A number of them involved families in multi-generation context, dear to the heart of genealogists. Macdonald was born Kenneth Millar in California, but was raised in Canada, attending high school in Kitchener, graduating from University of Western Ontario, and doing post-grad work at the Ontario College of Education before becoming a teacher. Macdonald elevated the genre to literate mastery.

My current A-list begins with Martin Cruz Smith’s prosecutorial investigator Arkady Renko, a man sometimes bowed but seldom beaten by the vagaries of Russian authority. In the course of the novels he manages to survive the transition from the soviet hammer to capitalist chaos to whatever is emerging today. He has deep, barely concealed contempt for his superiors, whatever their stripe. Their continual bureaucratic attempts to demoralize him rarely affect his totally engaging character. Renko sometimes second guesses himself, but even his melancholic observations have a dry humour. Renowned for his debut novel, Gorky Park, Smith does not produce a Renko novel every two years, to my regret.

Sequels like Polar Star and Red Square describe the absurd necessities and exigencies of daily life and work in a disturbing country, all fodder for the Russophile reader. Smith’s graphic portrayal of the Zone of Exclusion at Chernobyl in Wolves Eat Dogs is not for everyone’s taste but who would not appreciate his black market scenes of the 1990s in Red Square, or descriptions of Cuban street life in Havana Bay? Luckily for me, I still have Stalin’s Ghost to look forward to.

A close second is Donald James’ (aka Donald J. Wheal) police inspector Constantin Vadim who has slightly more authority and job security than Renko. This man is hot. His rather dishevelled approach to life involves many a thumb of vodka, unique expletives and superstitious ruminations on the mythical proportions of Russian folklore. Like Renko, Vadim is no indiscriminate skirt-chaser; he is true-blue to his wife. Actually, a different wife in each book. The first Vadim novel Monstrum is set in the year 2015 in a Moscow emerging from a realistic civil war. In the post-war aftermath, orphaned children are the biggest victim statistics. The next in the series is The Fortune Teller where Vadim has been moved to his hometown, the Arctic port of Murmansk. There he untangles mysterious murders and battles the slave trade with another cluster of priceless characters. But it would not be Russian if some tragedy were absent.

The third novel, Vadim, is disappointingly set mainly in the USA where Vadim becomes embroiled with politicians. A tuberculosis epidemic is sweeping Russia, causing millions to flee. My hero has quit the police militia and is not in his old form in this unfamiliar milieu—America is emasculating him. I had to wait until page 275 for his return to Moscow to see the passionate Russian emerge once again to navigate the plot twisting. The ending is an opening for more activities and more wives. But oh-oh, that was published in 2000 and we fans still wait.

To be continued. Which mystery authors and characters do YOU like??

Happy Canada Day!

What does Canada mean to you? Talk about an open-ended question! But pollsters do like to take polls, and John Reid—on his Anglo-Celtic Connections blog—relays some interesting results in brief from the Dominion Institute’s survey of the top 10 or top 20 answers. Can’t personally say “beaver” or “hockey” or “Niagara Falls” enter my head immediately. Our perception of Canada may be quite (interestingly) different from other viewpoints on the global compass. And our own perceptions are shaped by our family life and work life in such an amazingly varied country.

I see Canada in the excellent, wonderful humour we nourish and share, even with (or because of?) all those regional and cultural differences. We know we’re good at it because we do it all the time amongst ourselves. Give a Canadian a microphone or a letter to the editor on almost any topic and chances are you get some very good satirical or black humour (the best) comments.

If the Dominion Institute insists on a one-word or one-phrase answer for what Canada means to me? LAKE SUPERIOR.

Since I moved to Toronto quite a few years ago, CANADA DAY has taken on even more significance for me. I live in the old Town of York of 1793 as planned by Upper Canada’s first Governor John Simcoe and his surveyors. A number of my former clients had ancestors living here—carpenters, sailors, builders, administrators and real estate speculators—and it was possible to learn quite a lot about them. Some of those ancient inhabitants still lie beneath the sod of St. James Park over there or under the pavement of the adjacent diocesan parking lot. No, I don’t see ghosts on my walkabouts, but I can often see the imprint of times past.

My street sits under the water of Lake Ontario’s old shoreline, and my home is on the site of a nineteenth century shipping wharf. Where I live is also home to many entertainers and performers who suit the delightful St. Lawrence neighbourhood. Each CANADA DAY we like to serenade our neighbours in all directions with O Canada. Our resident leader is Syd Dolgay, an original member of the Travellers folk music group. The Travellers’ signature song was a Canadian adaptation of Woody Guthrie’s This Land Is Your Land. We always sing that too!


2004: PAL gathers to warm up the vocal chords.

Freedom 25

Take a peek at my books down in the right column. Two new editions are the products of Brenda’s last twelve months in researching, revising, writing, being reviewed, consulting, more research, more re-writing, printing glitches and occasional suicidal thoughts. That was me about March belting out “I Will Survive” as a theme song. It’s been 24 years since the first edition of Genealogy in Ontario appeared. Here are a couple of illustrations that didn’t make it into the book.

The Books of Remembrance for Canadian military service are in Ottawa but can be viewed on the Veterans Affairs Canada website: www.vac-acc.gc.ca, "Canada Remembers." The statue of Governor Simcoe is at Queen's Park in Toronto.

About Genealogical Standards of Evidence (3rd ed.) has also been revised to reflect mainstream twenty-first century methodology. Now I’m free to sort out priorities for my next projects.

This past weekend, 30 May to 1 June, was the Ontario Genealogical Society’s annual Conference (as it happens, the biggest such event in Canada). I was there on Saturday afternoon to sign books at the OGS table in the Marketplace of vendors, exhibits and regional information centres. A great chance to catch up with old friends, new friends and all the books. OGS had an attendance near 700 which is amazing, considering the downturn in registration the last few years for most North American conferences. Smart publicity contributed, and the theme “Wired Genealogy” clearly resonated with the general public. Dennis Mulligan must be a happy man.

The Ontario Chapter, Association of Professional Genealogists, had a table to promote membership and individual services; I could only spend a short time there. OCAPG member Ruth Blair was energetically doing double duty at times, with the National Institute for Genealogical Studies located at the next tables. At the end of this month my official position with NIGS comes to an end after six years. OCAPG member Nancy Trimble’s election as OGS vice president was good news; her broken leg was not so good news, but with her motorcycle ambitions curtailed, we know that matters genealogical have her undivided attention, eh? Paul McGrath at the “Ancestors in the Attic” display discussed the wrap-up of the third series and the preparation for a fourth with fingers crossed. Unfortunately I missed Dick Eastman, John Reid and many other people.

Speaking of endings, beginnings and good theme songs, Maclean’s magazine tells me that disco is back. Not that I knew it went missing, but it’s reassuring to know that good things get re-cycled without my help. Now all the secret wannabe Y!M!C!A! impersonators can safely reappear. Much more fun than rehearsing the steps to Zjozzy’s Funk in my sleep. Welcome back, Gloria Gaynor.

Saludos Amigos!

Sombreros off to our Mexican friends who celebrate Cinco de Mayo today. On 5 May 1862 the poorly equipped army of General Ignacio Zaragoza, outnumbered almost 2 to 1, defeated invading French forces at the battle of Puebla. The victory created a great surge of national unity that lives on in the collective memory, although the French subsequently prevailed with Louis Napoleon installing Maximilian of Hapsburg as emperor.

Finally, in 1867, president Benito Juarez regained power.

While the Fifth of May is not their Independence Day (16 September is) it's a good excuse for parties. Mexican culture is celebrated around the country, with pride of place in the city of Puebla. Ironically, it is said the biggest Cinco de Mayo celebration is in Los Angeles, USA.

Doesn't that margarita blend nicely with my blog?

Technical Challenges

Now that I finally figured out how to show labels in the sidebar, I need to go back and be more precise about labels for each post. This format does not allow me a third column. At least, not that I’ve discovered. This technology stuff is soooo painful when the right brain fights with the left brain. At any rate, I’ve managed to learn self-control when my internet service is interrupted or non-existent. Four whole days, sympatico!! Mastering the transfer of photos from a digital camera into my computer took many repetitions to sink in. Even then, I’m sure I have duplicate photo sets hiding in my hard drive from prior nervous attempts. Cropping a photo needs perfecting, and maybe learning what dpi means, among other things, duh. I'm working on how to make the URLs active links.


Getting a scanner and making it work will be another molehill out of which I can make a mountain. Tough work, this blogging.


Entirely gratuitous camel photo from my collection. In the United Arab Emirates, camel racing is a national sport and really, an industry. Trainers start working with 2-year-old camels to determine their abilities.

Photo credit: www.camelphotos.com/racing_camels.html#.